


Harry Potter and the Magic of Mistletoe

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A secret holiday gift precipitates fierce snogging and fiercer confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Magic of Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 25, 2002.

The tapping came at the window of the Gryffindor seventh-year boys' dormitory on a blustery Sunday afternoon close to the start of the Christmas holidays. Harry Potter looked up from where he'd been sprawled on the floor playing Wizard Monopoly with Ron (who was ecstatic at having just won 3,682 Galleons from Harry, who'd had the misfortune to land in the Diagon Alley space, on which Ron currently owned a bustling pub, a Quidditch supplies shop, and a candy store), and saw a school owl hovering outside the window, a package grasped in its talons. He scrambled up to let it in out of the frigid wind, and watched in bemusement as it flew in, dropped a green-wrapped package on Harry's bed, and immediately took off again, soaring back toward the Owlery.

"What have you got there, Harry?" Ron asked, sitting up.

"I don't know," Harry murmured, closing the window and walking to his bed to pick up the package. It was a small box wrapped in shiny green paper, affixed with a thin red ribbon. Harry toyed with the bow. "Looks like a Christmas gift, don't you think?" 

Ron stood up too and came over to examine it. "Hey, there's a tag."

Nestled under the bow was indeed a small white tag attached to the ribbon. Harry pulled it out and read: "To Harry Potter." In smaller letters beneath, it said only: "Christmas comes a bit early this year." He lowered his eyebrows, perplexed.

Ron scratched his head. "Doesn't say who it's from at all, then?"

"No," Harry said, turning the package over and over in his hands.

Ron perched on the edge of the bed. "Open it, then! Maybe there's a clue inside."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. It could be a trick or something."

Ron made a face. "You've been spending too much time with Hermione. Harry, it's a Christmas present! Remember, the last time you told Hermione about a mysterious Christmas present, Professor McGonagall took your Firebolt away! And all for what, I ask you? Nothing!" He thumped his fist on his thigh for emphasis. "So go on...open it!"

Harry shrugged and tugged at the red ribbon, sliding it off, then tearing open the green wrapping. Inside was a plain white cardboard box. He lifted the lid and found only…"Mistletoe?"

Ron leaned in for a closer look. "Hm. Sure looks like it." He grinned. "Must be you have a secret admirer, Harry."

He lifted out the sprig of green and looked at it more closely. "But it can't be mistletoe. I mean, it _looks_ like mistletoe, but the berries are silver...."

Ron laughed. "You mean you've never seen magical mistletoe before?"

Harry blinked at him. "Magical mistletoe?"

Ron plucked the sprig from Harry's hands. "Sure. It's just like regular Muggle mistletoe, but it's under a simple spell." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "It gives the recipient an uncontrollable urge to snog the giver."

"It what?" Harry choked.

Ron tossed the mistletoe up into the air a few times, grinning. "Yep. Uncontrollable snogging. Dad gave some to Mum once when we were kids." He winced at the memory. "We all hid in our rooms for the next few days. Mum was all over him."

"But," Harry protested, "I'm not feeling an uncontrollable urge to snog anyone just now."

"That's because it only works when the giver and the recipient are in the same room together, or at least in close proximity." He howled with laughter. "Dinner in the Great Hall sure is going to be interesting tonight."

Harry scowled at him. "I don't find this at all funny. Who knows who might have sent it? It could be...I don't know...some first-year."

Ron continued laughing. "Or Millicent Bulstrode."

Harry blanched, then countered with, "Or your sister."

Ron stopped laughing. "She wouldn't. She was just as scarred as all the rest of us from the Mum-and-Dad thing."

"But she knows how it works," Harry pointed out.

Ron shook his head. "Every witch or wizard over the age of ten knows how it works. It's a big hit at Christmas parties."

Harry slumped down onto the bed. "So that doesn't narrow the field at all, does it?"

Ron tired of playing with the mistletoe and leaned over to poke Harry with his elbow. "Here, you have to take this back from me. I can't hand it over or you'll start snogging me, and that just isn't my scene, you know?"

"What do you mean, I have to take it back from you?"

Ron huffed impatiently. "It's a very sensitive spell, and works whenever the plant is handed over freely. So if I were to just hand this over to you, it would affect you as the recipient and me as the giver, and you'd end up kissing me like mad."

Both boys shuddered.

"But," he continued, "if you take it back, it doesn't work. Like how I took it away from you." He held his hands wide. "See? No uncontrollable snogging urges here."

"So," Harry said, trying to understand the implications, "it affects whoever gives or receives it willingly?"

"Right," Ron said. "That's also a way for the spell between two people to be broken—for the giver to take the mistletoe back."

A look of horror crossed Harry's face. "So I'll be under a spell until whoever gave this to me decides to take it back?"

"Calm down," Ron soothed. "People usually only use this for a few days at most. After that, it tends to lose its novelty and the amusement value wears off." He shrugged. "And if it does turn out to be someone hideous, we'll just have to look up a counterspell."

Harry's shoulders remained slumped. "I guess so. Heck, Hermione might even know one already."

A devious light appeared in Ron's eyes. "Hey. Want to see how this stuff works?" he asked, tossing the mistletoe from hand to hand.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Ron stood up. "Watch this." Still toying with the mistletoe, he walked out the door and called down the stairs to Hermione in the common room. Harry's eyebrows knitted; the whole reason they'd escaped up here to begin with was because Hermione had been nagging at them about the irresponsibility of playing games when there were N.E.W.T.s to study for.

"What do you want?" Harry heard her say testily.

"Harry and I are having a discussion up here, and we wondered if you might be able to help us with something," Ron answered, all innocence.

Harry heard her footsteps ascending the staircase, voice muttering about stupid boys and their silly games and how she didn't know why she bothered with them when they were all hopelessly dense anyway....

Ron gestured her into the room ahead of him, then pulled the door closed. She looked at the Monopoly board lying abandoned on the floor, Harry's pewter broomstick gamepiece circling lazily over Diagon Alley, while Ron's cauldron bubbled and simmered on Platform 9 3/4. Hermione turned around, frowning. "OK, Ron, what is this all about?"

He handed over the plant. "Do you know what this is?"

She turned it over. "It looks like mistletoe, but—" Suddenly she stopped and looked up at Ron, who was grinning. An array of expressions flitted across her face—surprise, confusion, a growing dreaminess. Then she launched herself at Ron.

He staggered backward as her body slammed into his, her arms coiling around his neck, lips opening feverishly against his own. A muffled grunt of surprise escaped him before all thoughts of protest scattered.

Harry became acutely uncomfortable watching the proceedings. Ron's back was up against the door, his hands sliding down Hermione's back as she moaned into his mouth and ground herself against him. As Ron's hands reached for parts of Hermione that Harry really didn't want to see fondled in front of him, he cleared his throat loudly.

Ron jerked away so quickly, the back of his head banged against the door. Hermione reached up to reclaim his lips, but he shook his head with a touch of desperation and scrabbled behind his neck for the mistletoe she still held. Finally plucking it from her fingers, he slid away as she gasped and stepped backwards.

"What—?" she whispered. "What—?" She stared at Ron with a mixture of shock and wonder.

Ron was panting. "You see what I mean now, Harry?" His eyes locked with Hermione's again, and he took a step toward her.

Harry leaped off the edge of the bed and snagged the mistletoe out of Ron's hand. "Yeah. Great. Thanks for the demonstration." He watched the two of them staring at each other, both breathing hard. "After seeing that, I think I might just lock myself alone in a room somewhere for a few weeks," he muttered, grabbing his Invisibility Cloak and hurriedly ducking out of the room, leaving Ron and Hermione alone to...whatever. He cringed.

Despite Ron's assurances about the harmlessness of Christmas presents, Harry now was certain: Someone definitely had it in for him.

* * *

Harry left through the Gryffindor portrait hole ("'Appy 'olidays," hiccuped the Fat Lady, who already had been imbibing a little too much eggnog with her similarly intoxicated friend Violet) and slipped the Invisibility Cloak on as he turned the corner. It felt strange to be invisible during daylight hours—he mostly used it for nocturnal adventures. But the situation was dire. Who knew whom he might be compelled to kiss? How would he know? Would there be some sort of warning sign, or would he just…attack and snog, like Hermione had? Oh, the horror, the horror!

He trolled slowly through the corridors, tensing every time he sensed the approach of another student, then sighing in relief as he realized he felt no compulsion to knock them down and ravish them. Then another terrifying thought occurred to him. It couldn't be a professor, could it? That was just...that was... _wrong_. Surely none of them would have...no. But what if someone had enchanted the mistletoe to make him kiss someone other than the actual giver? He halted, frozen with fear. He hadn't even thought to ask Ron about that possibility. Oh, good lord. He could just imagine someone thinking it a good joke to make him go all amorous over, say, Snape. Harry clenched his invisible fists to his invisible mouth—he was afraid he was about to be very visibly ill.

He passed a group of chattering Hufflepuffs, a trio of Ravenclaws, several Slytherins, and even a few from his own House. No kissing impulse. Maybe the mistletoe hadn't affected him after all...maybe it didn't work through the Invisibility Cloak...maybe....

And then he felt it. A tingle of anticipation. An incipient weightlessness. The uncontrollable desire to snog, and snog thoroughly.

He pressed himself against the wall, trembling. Who was it? Who? Voices were approaching from around the corner, the sound of heavy feet scuffing against the ancient stone floors. His eyes widened. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't....

It was. Crabbe and Goyle came into view, and Harry nearly slid to the ground in a dead faint. The kissing impulse was strong, and growing stronger as they lumbered closer, grunting to each other in that incomprehensible way they had. 

But, he realized slowly, he didn't really want to kiss either of them. It wasn't centered on them. But in that case, who...?

"Wait a minute, you bloody imbeciles. Aren't you forgetting something? Or should I say, _someone_?"

No.

It wasn't.

Harry refused to believe it.

But when Draco Malfoy strode around the corner, impatiently swatting pale hair out of his eyes, his paler face set in its usual lines of supreme irritation combined with smug arrogance, the impulse sharpened, and viciously focused.

_Malfoy_.

"Sorry, Draco," Crabbe grunted. "Thought you had to talk to Flitwick."

"That was yesterday, you moron," Malfoy sneered.

Harry's ears perked up.

"Oh, yeah," Crabbe said, absently scratching his ear. "How'd that go, anyway?"

"Fine. It went fine." He seemed twitchy. Or at least twitchier than usual. At times like this, it wasn't hard to see why Professor "Moody" had transfigured him into a ferret three years ago. "Have either of you seen Potter recently?"

"Uh...not since breakfast," Goyle said. He looked at Crabbe, who shrugged in general affirmation. "Why d'you need to see _him_?"

The subject of their conversation continued to press himself against the wall, his eyes closed, desperately reaching for the strength to resist. But on the inside of his eyelids all he saw was a pale, angular face, artfully careless gilt hair, mocking gray eyes, and sharply honed lips curled into a perpetual sneer. What would it feel like to kiss that sneer? How would Malfoy's disdain taste? He clenched his fists, denying to himself that he breathed more deeply as Malfoy passed by him, only feet away, close enough to catch a whiff of soap and skin and expensive fabrics. He'd never realized Malfoy smelled so...clean.

"Oh, no particular reason," Malfoy said, and Harry could heard the hint of a smile in his voice. "I just...well, let's say I have a feeling that soon we all are going to learn something very new and interesting about Potter." He sniggered.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered too. "Like what?" Goyle asked.

"Oh, I think it's something better witnessed than discussed," Malfoy replied airily as the trio turned another corner and vanished from sight.

Harry slid to the floor, his knees bent to his chin, fists pressed to his forehead, shaking with the aftereffects of denying the power of the mistletoe. But he'd done it, he really had. It had been close, though. Harry shivered to think how very close he'd been to reaching out, or tripping him, or just pouncing and grabbing and pressing the other boy against the wall and just _diving_ into that mouth with its firm lines and its teasing curl and its expressive...Harry slapped himself. This wasn't helping.

What was he going to do? Obviously Malfoy wasn't going to be satisfied until he'd made a fool of Harry in front of the entire school, so waiting for him to decide to take back the mistletoe was out of the question; he'd go crazy fighting off its effects until then. Perhaps the time had come to consult Ron and Hermione on the matter.

He hauled himself to his feet, then paused to look at his watch. Surely enough time had passed by now, right...? He frowned. Well, perhaps he should be sure to knock all the same.

* * *

"Ron? What happened to you?"

Ron winced and held a sheepish hand in front of his left eye, around which a bruise bloomed ominously. "'Mione wasn't too happy when she found out about the mistletoe."

Harry laughed. "She decked you?"

"Knocked me flat," Ron admitted, other hand rubbing at his bum.

Harry squinted. "Er, Ron...I think you've got another bruise there."

"Where?" Ron began to pat himself down.

"Er...well...it's..."—Harry ran a finger along his own neck, just inside the top of his collar—"right about...here."

Ron clapped a hand over the side of his neck and blushed a shade more fiery than his hair. "Right here?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Hm. Right, then." The two were silent for a few moments, then Harry could no longer control his snickers. "Don't even try to convince me that mark came from a fist."

Ron scuffed the toe of one of his trainers into the ancient floorboards. "Well," he said, glancing up at Harry with a slight smirk, "I didn't say she was angry the whole time."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I really can't." Hermione gestured impatiently. "I've already told you, I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall before dinner."

"Can't it wait?" Harry was horrified to hear himself on the edge of whining, but these were desperate times.

Hermione sighed and spoke slowly, as to a recalcitrant child. "Harry. I have had this meeting scheduled for a month. No, it cannot wait."

"So you'd rather sit back and watch Harry snog Malfoy all through dinner, is that it?" Ron said, rather nastily.

Hermione glowered, her fingers tightening on the book she was in the process of stowing in her bag. "Don't take that tone of voice with me, Ronald Weasley. I can give you another black eye to match the first. Don't think I won't." She fastened the clasps and straightened, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I don't see why the two of you can't handle this on your own." She narrowed her eyes. "Surely you've managed to learn your way around the library by now?"

"Well...of course." Harry tried to be placating. "But you're so much better at research than we are."

"All the more reason for you to practice. N.E.W.T.s are only a few months away, remember." She paused on her way out of the common room, and her expression softened. "Harry, I doubt it's all that complicated. After all, it's common enough holiday magic, right?" Harry shrugged, looking forlorn. She sighed. "Good luck. I'll see you both at dinner."

* * *

The library had nearly emptied in the hour before dinner, so few were present to witness Harry banging his head slowly and repeatedly against the table at which he sat. Ron sat across from him, his expression one of pained sympathy.

"That's it." _Bang_. "I'm not"— _bang_ —"going"— _bang_ —"to dinner." _Bang_.

"It could be worse," Ron said reasonably. "I mean, it could be a shagging charm."

Harry stopped banging his head long enough to give him a fierce glare.

"Right," Ron said. "Wrong tack."

Harry put his head down, one side of his face pressed against the cool wooden tabletop. "Why me?" he moaned. "Why do I always have to be the target of these stupid tricks?"

"Harry." Ron scrunched up his face. "It's not that I'm not sympathetic and all. But...that is...it's not a matter of life or death. It's not exactly the Goblet of Fire all over again. It's just a bloody kissing charm."

"Fine thing for you to say," Harry muttered. "You're not the one who's going to be kissing Malfoy for the foreseeable future."

"Could be worse," Ron said cheerfully. "What if it _had_ been Crabbe or Goyle?"

Both shuddered.

"And you know," Ron continued, "it's not like we have to keep the mistletoe a secret. If everyone knows you're under a spell, they won't find it so strange that you're kissing Malfoy." He snorted. "Why else _would_ anyone kiss Malfoy?"

Harry mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "attractive sneer," but Ron chose to ignore that, assuming stress-induced delirium.

"I'm skipping dinner," Harry said, his face still against the table. "I'm not going."

Ron sighed. "You're going to have to see him eventually. We have Potions tomorrow."

"Potions!" Harry began to bang his head again.

Ron's hand shot out and caught Harry's forehead before it could hit the wood again. "Stop it!" His face contorted into an expression of anguished indecision for a moment, then he sighed. "All right, I didn't tell you this before, but I'm going to now. Maybe it'll make you feel better."

Harry reluctantly propped his chin on one hand, looking pouty. "What?"

"Two years ago, when the family went to Romania for the Christmas hols, Fred and George somehow conspired to slip me some mistletoe that a friend of Charlie's had enchanted for his girlfriend." He shuddered. "It was awful. I was on him like a dog in heat. He didn't even understand what had happened until I begged him to take back the mistletoe." He shook his head, and a red stain burned along the tops of his cheekbones at the memory. "I think Hugh still suspects I'm a bit of a poof."

Harry stared at him. "This is not exactly helping."

Ron threw his hands in the air. "All I'm saying is, it's not just you! Rotten tricks like this happen to other people too. And maybe Malfoy will get tired of being slobbered over and take the mistletoe back sooner rather than later." He eyed Harry. "You have it on you, right?"

Harry patted his pocket listlessly.

Ron shrugged. "So we couldn't find a counterspell. That doesn't mean there isn't one to be found. We can keep looking tonight or tomorrow, and maybe get Hermione to come along as well. Until then, you just have to face this bravely." He grimaced. "Think of it as your Gryffindor duty."

Harry laid his head back on the table. "Not going to dinner," he muttered.

"Oh, stop whinging already, you big baby," Ron said sharply. "Besides, you know, it's spotted dick night."

Harry raised his head a few inches and sent Ron a suspicious look. "Is it really?"

"You know it is, Harry. Dobby told us both last week because he knows it's your favorite dessert."

Harry sighed and sat up, still looking mournful. "I do love spotted dick."

Ron stood up and came around the table to pull Harry to his feet. "That's the spirit. Just don't let anyone hear you say that while you're snogging Malfoy…it could be misconstrued."

* * *

The dinner hour was half over by the time Harry and Ron approached the Great Hall, and Harry clung to the hope that perhaps Malfoy might have left early, or not been present at all. But the growing sense of urgency he felt as they got closer to the Hall revealed just what a vain wish that was. And sure enough, as they stepped through the entryway, the first person Harry saw was Malfoy, smug and expectant, his eyes laughing, the glowing Christmas decorations glinting off his fair hair.

A surge of rage swelled up in Harry in that instant, and he didn't even give a thought to defying the compulsion of the mistletoe. Ignoring Ron's attempt at restraint, he marched boldly up to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat watching him with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Problem, Potter?" he sneered.

"Yeah," Harry answered, and promptly sat in Malfoy's lap, sealing his mouth over Malfoy's infuriating smirk.

Only somehow the smirk wasn't quite so infuriating when those lips were pressed up against his own, Harry found. For all their sharply delineated edges and perpetually disdainful curl, they were surprisingly soft and warm and smooth beneath his, and somehow he wasn't surprised when they opened with little persuasion on his part.

He could feel Malfoy gasp as Harry's tongue slid into his mouth, as Harry's fingers wove themselves through that silky blond hair. Harry squirmed a bit in Malfoy's lap, seeking a closer fit, finding his own growing excitement reflected in the body beneath his. He nipped at Malfoy's full lower lip, and could feel the Slytherin suppress a groan.

Abruptly, Malfoy stood up, shoving Harry off his lap. Harry lay sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the other boy as he drew his concealing robes around him. "I always knew you found me irresistible, Potter," Malfoy sneered, "but I never realized you felt the need to declare it so publicly."

Harry surged to his feet. "You bloody liar—"

He reached for Malfoy again, but the other boy stepped backward, waving an admonishing finger at him and laughing. "Naughty, naughty, Potter," he tittered. "You mustn't be so free with your affections in public. You'll get in trouble."

Harry lunged for him again, this time purely out of anger, but found himself caught by Ron's firm hands. "Come on, Harry," he hissed. "You can walk away from this, I know you can." He glared at Malfoy over Harry's shoulder. "Get the fuck out of here, you little ferret," he sneered. "I'm on to you."

Malfoy laughed at the both of them and sent them off with a little wave at Harry. Harry allowed himself to be propelled to the Gryffindor table and forcibly seated across from a goggling Hermione, Ron's broad hands on his shoulders. He stared across the Hall at where Malfoy and his two goons had stepped away from the table and were stalking toward the door to exit. But just at the doorway, Malfoy paused once and glanced over his shoulder, fingers brushing against his lips. His gaze met Harry's for an instant, and then he ducked away, Crabbe and Goyle at his heels.

Harry looked at his plate and didn't even notice the stares and whispers from the rest of the Hall. This wasn't going to be an easy endeavor.

* * *

Lying in bed that night, Harry reflected. He hadn't had much time to think earlier, what with Ron rambling rather incoherently about Hermione for a good couple of hours (very much to the amusement of the rest of their roommates, who'd watched Ron moon over Hermione for several years now).

Malfoy. Harry actually had kissed Malfoy in public tonight and, he thought, grimacing in the darkness at the admission, it hadn't been that bad. It had been only a few seconds, really, but he'd been warm and responsive and—Harry swallowed—yes, exciting. The scene afterward had been unpleasant, of course, but Harry's mind kept spinning back to that last second before Malfoy had left the Hall—the brief exchange of glances they'd shared. There hadn't been resentment in the other boy's eyes, of that Harry was certain. It had looked like...puzzlement. Confusion. Anxiety?

Harry frowned and burrowed deeper under the covers. He'd hoped Malfoy might take the mistletoe back in disgust as soon as possible. But somehow—he shivered involuntarily as he remembered the feel of Malfoy's tongue stroking his own—he didn't suspect any longer that that would be the case.

* * *

The next morning, Malfoy wasn't present at breakfast, so Harry was able to breathe a sigh of relief and sit down at the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione, who were seated next to each other and exchanging heated looks over eggs and sausages.

"So," Harry sighed, "are you two officially together now or not?"

One more simmering gaze passed between them before Hermione turned to Harry and smiled. "Yes, I suppose you could say so."

"'Bout time," he muttered, digging into his own eggs. "You two have been driving me mad for the last three years."

Hermione snorted. "That's because Ron didn't realize I was a girl."

Ron glowered, a sizable purple bruise still glowing around one eye. "No, that's because you kept flirting with an overgrown Bulgarian Quidditch player."

Hermione glowered back. "No, it's because you couldn't be bothered to come forward and make a damn pass at me in the first place."

Ron shoved a strip of bacon into his mouth. "What the hell do you think the mistletoe was all about?"

"All right, fine, yes, it worked," Hermione admitted. Her eyes narrowed and she poked Ron in the shoulder. "But if you try any more of those types of charms on me, it won't be your eyes I leave black and blue. You understand?"

Ron grinned cheekily. "Oh, baby," he sighed, "I love it when you get violent."

Despite herself, Hermione chuckled. "Is that what comes of growing up the youngest of six brothers?"

"Sure," he replied. "It just doesn't feel like love unless there's a fistfight involved."

One corner of her mouth curled upward. "Hm, really? In that case, I suppose sex with you should be very interesting indeed."

Ron dropped his fork. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. His eyes nearly crossed.

Hermione leaned forward and pressed a finger under his chin to close his mouth with a distinct _click_. "At least I know how to shut him up now," she said, winking at Harry.

Harry groaned. "Yeah, but you aren't the one who's going to have to deal with him in a few hours when the reality of what you just said sinks in."

She patted his hand. "Don't worry. Silencing charms are a wonderful thing." She swept to her feet and sauntered off, leaving two very bemused teenage boys staring in her wake. Harry began to wonder if the holidays were driving everyone a little mad.

* * *

The morning was blissfully Malfoy-free, but Harry found himself dragging his feet on the way to Potions that afternoon. A whole hour. How could he stand a whole hour of being in the same room with Malfoy? No matter how good a fight he put up against the magic, he'd cave. He could feel it acting already, pulling him forward, making his blood race. He slowed his steps further, dropping behind Ron and Hermione, who were so absorbed in each other, they didn't even notice.

As he passed the partially open door of a disused classroom, a swift, stealthy arm shot out and grabbed him by the neck of his robes, dragging him back through the doorway. Harry choked, and blinked in surprise to find himself eye-to-eye with Malfoy. "Potter," he sneered, but that was all he got a chance to say before Harry pressed forward and caught the other boy's mouth with his own. Malfoy made an inarticulate noise in his throat that didn't sound much like a protest, and then his hands were grasping Harry's shoulders, fingers digging convulsively.

Harry turned so that Malfoy's back was pressed to the cool stone wall, and proceeded to ravish the Slytherin's mouth, fingers trailing down the trembling boy's sides before seizing at his hips. Malfoy groaned and pressed closer, and Harry found himself doing the same. After a few moments, they were aware of nothing but panting mouths and flushed skin and eager bodies straining against one another's. Abruptly Malfoy clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder and pushed him away. Harry stared, half-blind and dazed.

"Go," Malfoy said, his voice hoarse. Harry pressed forward, but Malfoy shoved him away again. "Go!" he repeated, holding Harry at arm's length. "You'll be late to class."

"So will you," Harry croaked.

"Don't worry about me," Malfoy said, and pushed Harry out the door. "Go!"

A glance at his watch told Harry that Malfoy was right, and he took off down the hall at a run, not glancing back. By the time he arrived at the Potions classroom, he was indeed late, and any hope of slipping in unnoticed was crushed the instant he crept through the doorway and heard Snape's smug intonation, "Mr. Potter. I see you've finally decided to join our humble class."

"Not my fault, Professor," he panted. "Malfoy—"

Snape's eyes pinned him from across the room. "Do not attempt to lay the blame for your own follies at Mr. Malfoy's doorstep, Potter."

"But he's late too!" Harry protested.

"Mr. Malfoy has been excused from class today," Snape replied, lacing his sallow fingers together. "You, however, have not. Take your seat, Potter." He picked up the flask on the table before him. "And twenty points from Gryffindor," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry slid into his seat, face burning. Damn that bloody mistletoe.

* * *

Still mortified over the events leading up to Potions that afternoon, Harry went to dinner early, wolfed down his food, and exited the Hall just as most students were arriving. Malfoy was not in the Hall anywhere. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he ran out the doors, only to be stopped dead by a low, amused voice. "Going somewhere, Potter?"

Harry spun around and, yes, there he was, smug smirk in evidence, one hand held cockily at his hip. _I won't_ , Harry told himself, clenching his fists, _I won't!_ But when Malfoy pulled him behind a suit of armor, he didn't resist, and when Malfoy laughed, he couldn't seem to help stopping the sound with his own mouth. Malfoy purred. "How was Potions?" he murmured.

"You skipped, you bastard," Harry growled between kisses.

"I didn't skip," Malfoy replied, "I was excused. Snape saw you kissing me in the Great Hall yesterday, and needed no convincing to believe I was quite ill from the shock and horror."

"You dirty—" Harry snarled, his mouth pressed to Malfoy's neck.

Malfoy laughed, a low sound deep in his throat. "You like me dirty, don't you, Potter? You like me any way you can get me."

"I hate you," Harry said.

"Your actions belie your words, Potter."

Harry's hands kneaded at the other boy's derriere even as he gasped, "You know it's just a spell, Malfoy."

"Yes," Malfoy laughed, "but no one else believes it, do they? Everyone knows how you look at me, Potter."

"I don't look at you."

Malfoy only chuckled. "Oh, Potter, but you do." He stepped back from behind the suit of armor and jogged into the Great Hall, leaving Harry pounding his fist against the wall in frustration.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said later that night in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. "I tried." She touched Ron's hand. "We both tried. All the books that have anything to do with mistletoe or other holiday charms have been checked out of the library."

Harry pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "What about the Restricted Section?"

Ron shrugged. "Doubt there'd be anything in there. This isn't Dark or forbidden magic."

"What about Professor Flitwick? Would he be able to help?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. "Haven't you heard, Harry?" she asked. "Professor Flitwick has already left for the holidays. He had a family emergency, so Charms classes are canceled for the rest of the week."

"And Dumbledore won't get involved," Ron said sadly. "We already asked him after dinner."

Hermione frowned. "He seemed awfully amused by the whole situation, if you ask me. Very suspicious, I say."

"Maybe McGonagall...?" Harry began, desperate now.

"Oh, you know she'd toss you out of her office. 'Students and their holiday hijinks,'" Ron mimicked, doing a passable imitation of the professor's dismissive burr.

Harry thunked his head on the table. "That's it, then. I'm doomed."

Ron and Hermione were silent. Secretly, they agreed.

* * *

"Only four more days till the holidays," Harry told himself when he woke up the next morning. "Only four more days."

He dragged himself to breakfast, trembling with trepidation. But no Malfoy was in evidence. Harry began to wonder if he ever ate breakfast—he couldn't remember ever seeing him there. He swallowed. Not that he, like, noticed or anything. But it made a lot of sense—maybe skipping meals was how Malfoy stayed so very slim. Harry shook his head. But, really, he didn't notice. Not at all.

The only other class he had scheduled with Malfoy this week was Care of Magical Creatures on Thursday, and somehow he didn't expect Malfoy would be able to talk himself out of that one. But that still left a number of meals to get through, plus the possibility of unexpected encounters in the corridors or elsewhere. Dammit, why couldn't Malfoy just take the mistletoe back?

The day was uneventful—he went out of his way to avoid hallways he knew the Slytherins tended to use, and managed to talk the house elves into giving him food to take back to Gryffindor Tower, so he wouldn't have to eat in the Great Hall at all for the next few days. Things were looking up.

He carried his precious hoard upstairs, congratulating himself on his own cleverness, then froze when he saw a lean blond figure lazing elegantly against the wall next to the Gryffindor portrait hole. Malfoy straightened and gave him a slow, wicked smile. "Didn't think it would be that easy, did you, Potter?"

Harry dropped the basket of food.

Malfoy stepped closer, and Harry felt himself start to tremble. Oh, God, not here. Not where any of his friends could come along at any moment and happen across them. They were practically nose-to-nose now, and Harry's breathing had gone jerky with the effort of holding back. He stared back at Malfoy, unwillingly fascinated by the shifting shadows in the other boy's eyes—shades of smoky gray and silver that melded into one another with the flickering of the candlelight and the angle of the Slytherin's narrow face. Harry's gaze dropped to Malfoy's lips—soft, pink, just barely parted—and he was lost. His chin tilted, and he caught that mouth with his own, his eyes fluttering closed with the relief of contact.

There didn't seem to be as much urgency here in this shadowed corridor during the dinner hour—just a long, leisurely exploration of mouth on mouth, fingers brushing, then weaving. Malfoy's mouth was so warm, Harry thought, so different from what he would have expected from that cool exterior. He tasted like apples and pumpkin juice and cloves, and Harry savored it. Malfoy's tongue traced Harry's teeth, and Harry whimpered. He could feel the other boy's lips curve against his.

Too soon, Malfoy stepped back. His mouth was wet and his cheeks flushed, and Harry's breath caught at the sight of him. "Don't hide from me, Potter," Malfoy murmured, sliding his hands from Harry's grasp and walking away.

Harry stood there in the corridor, frustrated and yearning, balling his fists, holding tight to the strength he needed not to run after Malfoy. At last, as his heartbeat slowed, he bent to pick up the basket of food, and turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to find her fanning herself. "My, my, dear," she chuckled, "that was quite the show."

Harry blushed so fiercely, he nearly couldn't stammer out the password.

* * *

Malfoy caught him three times the next day: once outside the prefects' bathroom (Harry dragged him inside, shoved him against the wall, and plundered his mouth mercilessly), once near the Charms classroom (Malfoy laughed as he ran his hand down the front of Harry's trousers and found him unmistakably aroused), and once just outside of Professor McGonagall's office (she caught them embracing, pressed tight against the wall, devouring one another; she'd taken points from each of their Houses and sent them away in separate directions; Harry nearly cried from the unfairness of it).

It puzzled Harry, though, that Malfoy didn't seem more eager to drag him to more densely populated areas of the school. After all, wasn't that that point of the mistletoe—to humiliate him? During that last encounter, outside of McGonagall's office, Harry had asked him, minutes before they'd been caught, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy had tipped his head back and sneered. "What do you think I want, Potter?"

"Well," Harry had panted, "right now you just seem to be getting a lot of illicit snogging from your enemy."

"And who's to say that isn't exactly what I want?" he'd winked.

"Funny, I never thought you were into blokes, Malfoy," Harry had snarled.

"I never said I was."

"Then why?" he'd asked in desperation.

Malfoy had held his chin in one hand. "Don't you get it, Potter? It's all about power." He grinned slowly. "You can't resist me. You're going to have to live with this for the rest of your life."

Harry had watched the other boy's gaze flicker down to his lips, and he'd narrowed his eyes. "Guess what, Malfoy? So will you." And with that he'd closed his mouth over Malfoy's once more, and they'd stayed locked together until their discovery at the hands of McGonagall.

* * *

Harry found he needn't have worried about Care of Magical Creatures the next afternoon, as Hagrid took them all outside and put them in groups to identify magical creature tracks through the snow on the edges of the forest. He and Malfoy were assigned to groups working on opposite sides of the glen, and Harry determinedly turned his back to the Slytherins and got to work with Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

But he glanced up at one point to find his gaze irresistibly drawn to a head of fine silver-blond hair, glistening with snowflakes in the winter sun. He felt his chest tighten and his heartbeat accelerate, and very consciously had to remind himself to stay where he was and not march over to Malfoy's group. Was it possible that the mistletoe's effects were growing even stronger, to affect him over this distance, in the open air?

At that moment, Malfoy turned slightly and caught Harry looking at him. A small frown of perplexity seemed to drift across his features, and he averted his gaze. Harry sighed and got back to work, but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched off and on all afternoon.

* * *

"Still no mistletoe books in the library, then?"

Hermione sighed and patted his arm as she sat next to him in the common room after dinner. "I'm sorry, Harry. But Madam Pince says they're all due back tomorrow."

"Holidays," Harry said. "Right."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Surely you can stand one more day. It's not as bad as all that, is it, Harry?"

He closed his eyes. "That's the problem."

* * *

Harry needed air. So even though it was after curfew and bitter cold outside, he grabbed his warmest cloak and his broomstick, and set off for the Quidditch pitch under cover of his Invisibility Cloak. Moonlight glittered on the fresh snow and the night wind caught the trees, sending blue shadows skittering over the landscape.

Somehow he wasn't surprised to find that Malfoy had gotten here first.

He stood on the edge of the pitch, shrouded in invisibility, just watching the other boy do loops and feints and turns. He was a capable, elegant flier, Harry had to admit. Then again, he thought, swallowing, so much about Malfoy was elegant. How well he knew that face by now, those firm lips, those shadowed eyes; how familiar were those long-fingered hands that gripped his broomstick with such surety, that were similarly sure on Harry's body. His breath caught when Malfoy stopped in mid-air, staring in his direction, and he realized the other boy must have spotted his footprints in the snow. He dropped the Invisibility Cloak and watched Malfoy's eyes widen. But he didn't fly away, instead waiting for Harry to mount his own broomstick and join him in the air.

The night was cold, but the air was crisp and the sky was open and the stars spread overhead like a carpet of diamonds. The boys flew together, then weaving, then racing. They charged back and forth down the pitch, grinning broadly, laughing. At last Malfoy reached out and caught one of Harry's hands as he flew past, pulling him close so their broomsticks were parallel. Somehow it was right for their lips to meet, and part, and meet again, two fluttering silhouettes against a star-speckled sky. Expensively-gloved hands caught at the shoulders of the other figure, drew him closer; gleaming silver-blond hair was mussed and left standing on end by eager fingers in old woolen mittens. Their broomsticks rotated, side-by-side, over the center of the pitch as their bodies pressed together in the moonlight, the warmth of contact driving back the cold.

When midnight struck, they parted without having said a word.

* * *

Because Charms classes had been canceled for the week, Harry had no classes on Friday, the last day before the holidays. He stayed in his dormitory all day, bidding half-hearted good-byes to those among his roommates who were taking the train out of Hogsmeade this afternoon, and otherwise staring into space. Ron tried to talk him into joining him and Hermione for a walk to the lake, and maybe a look in the library afterward, but Harry said no, he preferred to stay indoors, thank you. Ron shrugged and left him alone.

Some time later, a sleek eagle owl came tapping at the dormitory window. Attached to its leg was a note: "Meet me at the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight. Bring the mistletoe." There was no signature.

Harry pulled the sprig of green from its now-customary place in his pocket, and looked at it for a few moments. Gritting his teeth, he narrowly resisted the urge to hurl the offending plant out the window.

* * *

The common room was nearly empty at this hour of the evening, especially as many of the students had already departed for the Christmas holidays. Most of the remainder would be leaving in the morning...including Malfoy.

Harry sat in a low armchair, staring into the fire. It was nearly finished, he thought. These strange few days with Malfoy would draw to a close tonight. No more mistletoe, no more snogging, no more fevered encounters in abandoned classrooms and darkened hallways. He felt oddly morose, considering.

His fingers tightened on the chair's arms as the portrait swung open and a figure stepped into the shadowed room. "Ah," he said, relaxing as he recognized her, "Hermione."

She stepped farther into the room and came to stand before him. "Harry," she said. Her features were etched with confusion.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning forward.

"I've just returned from the library," she began, "and...well...I read the books about mistletoe charms." She hesitated. "I'm not sure how much you want to know."

"Everything!" he said. "Tell me everything."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she began to explain. With each word that fell from her lips, Harry grew paler. As she concluded, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Hermione thought he was about to cry, and reached out a hand. "Harry...."

Instead, to her surprise, Harry began to laugh.

* * *

When Harry arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower a few hours later, he found Malfoy already curled up on a windowsill, looking out at the icy winter stars. Harry shed his Invisibility Cloak and approached the slim, blond boy. He seemed an ethereal figure, limned in moonlight, and Harry felt an ache in his chest as his fingers touched Malfoy's, as the other boy's head turned to his and their lips met, breath misting into a single ephemeral cloud in the cold night air.

One of Malfoy's elegant hands trailed along Harry's cheek, and he leaned into it, feeling cool fingers and a warm palm. "The last time," Malfoy whispered against Harry's lips. Harry murmured something inaudible in response, and their mouths opened against one another's, tongues stroking, seeking. The last time.

With a sigh, Malfoy drew back. "Where is it?" he asked, his eyes avoiding Harry's.

Harry patted his robe pocket and, after an almost infinitesimal hesitation, Malfoy reached in and pulled it out. His fingers tightened convulsively on the already half-crushed sprig of green, and Harry watched the mistletoe become irreparably mangled in Malfoy's fist, and smiled.

Malfoy pushed himself off the windowsill and stood defiantly in front of Harry, a shock of blond hair falling over one eye in a manner that was deceptively childish. "This is the end," he said. "I've embarrassed and humiliated you quite enough for my liking." He stepped closer and poked a finger into Harry's chest, his gray eyes going dark. "And if you try to tell anyone that I did anything other than simply make a fool of you in public, I can promise you will regret it."

Harry grabbed the offending finger with one hand and pushed it away. "No problem," he said, and kissed Malfoy fiercely.

Malfoy gasped, his entire body going rigid as Harry's mouth pressed against his, as Harry's hands stroked his cheek, his arms, his waist, and lower. He twisted his head away. "What—?"

Harry drew back slightly. "This isn't over," he said, and licked Malfoy's jaw.

"You...you can stop now," Malfoy said, sounding strained. "I took back the mistletoe." Harry's tongue traced the curves of his ear. "Did you hear me?" he demanded, his voice sliding up an octave as Harry nipped his earlobe. "I took it back!"

"I know," Harry murmured. "I know you did." He grinned against the side of Malfoy's neck as his hand found what he had been searching for. He stroked, and Malfoy moaned, then abruptly tried to push Harry away.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy gasped. "The spell—" His voice cracked as Harry slid a hand into his trousers. "The spell is over!" he cried, desperate now. "The spell is over!"

Harry gripped Malfoy's jaw with one hand and turned the other boy's head to face him. "The spell never started," he said.

Malfoy blinked, gaze riveted to Harry's amused green eyes. "What...what do you mean?"

"You see," Harry said, his thumb stroking up and down Malfoy's neck, his eyes on Malfoy's lips, "I had Hermione do a bit of research on the properties of magical mistletoe."

He paused, watching Malfoy lick his dry lips. "And?" Malfoy asked, hoarse.

"Well," Harry continued, almost languorously, "it turns out the charm applied to the mistletoe is a mild, legal derivation of the Imperius Curse."

"So?" Malfoy choked, struggling to stay focused on Harry's face.

"So," Harry said, "everyone knows I've been able to throw off the Imperius Curse since fourth year." He waited until Malfoy's shocked eyes looked directly into his, then continued, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "So, basically, I could have walked away from all this at any time with no ill-effects. If I'd wanted to." Malfoy's jaw fell open, and Harry took advantage by sealing his mouth over Malfoy's. His tongue slid into the Slytherin's mouth for one long, slow sweep, then he pulled away, dropping his hands and taking half a step backward. Malfoy stood before him, eyes wide, mouth open, visibly aroused and nearly panting. Harry leaned in and pressed a single soft kiss to his forehead. "Happy Christmas, Draco," he murmured, and walked away.

* * *

On Christmas morning, just after dawn, Harry was awakened by the sound of an insistent tapping at the dormitory window. He fumbled for his glasses, and crawled out of bed to see a familiar eagle owl flapping its wings outside the tower. He opened the window, and it dropped a package into his hands and flew off.

He stood in the hazy early-morning light and contemplated the box. It was red-wrapped this time, with a green ribbon. He untied the ribbon, slid off the wrapping, and opened the box. Inside lay an ordinary sprig of Muggle mistletoe. His eyebrows lowered in perplexity, and he bent to pick up the discarded wrappings, belatedly searching for a card. He found one attached to the ribbon, just like last time. But this one read: "To Harry. Because some things are more powerful even than magic."

As stray flakes of snow flitted through the still-open window, Harry closed his eyes and smiled.


End file.
